


We Will Survive (Hey Hey)

by clotpolesonly



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Flirting, Fluff, Insecure Jackson, Jealousy, M/M, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 19:16:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13060425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clotpolesonly/pseuds/clotpolesonly
Summary: They’d agreed to come to this party separately. They’d agreed to keep their relationship a secret from their friends and their pack. So Jackson had no right to the burning feeling in his gut when Stiles bit his lip and turned back to the girl with her hand still on his knee.





	We Will Survive (Hey Hey)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for day 2 of Stackson Week: Established Relationship! (Also written very quickly and not beta read, so any typos are mine and I'll probably come back and fix them later, lol....)

The party was in full swing by the time Jackson got there, just like they’d planned. Stiles had texted half an hour ago to say that he and Scott had arrived and Jackson could start heading that way, so here he was. He’d walked instead of driven, too full of anxious energy to think of being cooped up in his tiny Porsche for more than a minute at a time, which meant that he was even later than they’d planned. All the better if they didn’t want anyone assuming they had come together.

Not that anyone would assume that. No one had any reason to assume that, and they’d worked very hard to make sure of it. They never went out on real dates, unless they drove out to the next town where they weren’t likely to run into anyone they knew. They always took thorough showers after sex and put on clean clothes before seeing any of the other werewolves in their lives. They even kept up their antagonistic bickering in public, though that was honestly just as much for fun as it was to keep up the ruse.

For seven months they had managed to keep their relationship from everyone, even from Scott who spent more time with Stiles than his own father did and from Derek whose born wolf nose was more attuned to picking up out of place scents than anyone else’s. Frankly, it was impressive, and Jackson was strangely proud of the accomplishment, even if it did put serious constraints on their relationship.

Like showing up to parties half an hour apart so as not to raise suspicions.

Jackson ran fingers through his hair—just in case the brief sprint through the backwoods a few streets over had messed up the gelling—and tugged to make sure his shirt was on straight. Then he braced himself for the onslaught of sensory information that was about to overtake him and pushed open the door.

Sure enough, the place was jam packed, full of rowdy people and red solo cups of various alcohols and bass-heavy music that made Jackson wish he’d thought to bring earplugs with him. He didn’t even recognize half of these people, but he also couldn’t remember whose party it was so he shouldn’t have been surprised by that.

Jackson shook his head as he slid through the crowd; back in the day, he had loved parties like this. He’d _lived_ for them and the attention they brought him. Now, he probably wouldn’t have come at all if not for the incentive of getting to see Stiles all dressed up and on the dance floor, even if he wouldn’t get to dance with Stiles himself.

Someone pushed a solo cup full of something or other into Jackson’s hand as he passed by. It wouldn’t do him any good, no matter how strong, but he shrugged and drank it anyway because that’s what normal people did at parties and there was no reason not to. He kept pushing through the crowd, eyes scanning for the only person he actually cared about.

Jackson found him in a corner of the living room. Lounging on a couch. With some girl sitting next to him, pressed up close and looking like she wanted to eat him alive. He was laughing, telling some story that included a lot of arm-waving for emphasis, and he didn’t move when she put a hand on his knee.

The bottom dropped out of Jackson’s stomach. It was an awful sensation, like missing a step going down stairs, and he let his mostly full cup clunk down on the nearest flat surface because there was no way he would be able to drink any more of it now.

He stared long enough for Stiles to glance up and see him. Stiles’ smile grew wider, _brighter,_ and the tight knot in Jackson’s chest loosened just a little bit. A part of him hoped that Stiles would shove the girl off, bound up out of his seat, and race over to throw his arms around Jackson. But the logical part of him knew that would blow all their efforts out of the water. It wasn’t what they’d agreed upon, anyway.

They’d agreed to come to this party separately. They’d agreed to keep their relationship a secret from their friends and their pack. So Jackson had no right to the burning feeling in his gut when Stiles bit his lip and turned back to the girl with her hand still on his knee.

Jackson snatched up his cup again and turned away. The kitchen was across the hall and a bit less densely populated, so he sequestered himself there for the time it took to force down the rest of his drink—tequila, maybe. No one tried to make small talk with him.

After twenty minutes or so people started giving him strange looks for standing there with an empty cup and glowering at everyone around that came near him, so he poured himself a sprite from one of the two-liters lined up on the counter and braved the party proper again. Maybe by now Stiles had shaken loose his barnacle and moved on to dancing.

Unfortunately, Stiles wasn’t on the dance floor.

Even _more_ unfortunately, Stiles had acquired another barnacle.

This one was a guy, tall and muscular and attractive enough that even Jackson couldn’t find anything to insult him with, even in his head. That burn was back in Jackson’s gut, made twice as hot by the way Stiles was grinning and talking and leaning into the guy like he was funny or charming. Like he was _flirting._

Like Stiles didn’t already have someone to flirt with.

A growl built up in Jackson’s throat and claws pricked at his fingertips. He shoved them both down with some effort, and only because there were humans all around who would be concerned by claws and electric blue eyes. If they hadn’t been, he might have just laid into the guy, torn his entire arm off and hit him with it, dragged the asshole away from _his boyfriend_ until he got the message that Stiles was off limits.

Stiles was looking at him again, but he wasn’t smiling anymore. His lips were pulled down into a frown as he peered around the flirty asshole to where Jackson was standing. He raised an eyebrow in question but before Jackson could react, Scott was there, clapping a hand on Stiles’ shoulder and punching the asshole in the bicep like they were old pals.

Jackson took the opportunity to flee. He got waylaid by some chick begging him to dance with her, but she was too drunk to stand up straight, let alone follow the beat, so he passed her off to someone with a water bottle in hand. He struggled through some polite small talk with people in the kitchen because that was what normal people did at parties, and to keep himself from dwelling on the fact that his boyfriend was off getting flirted with by people who weren’t him and there was nothing he could do about it without blowing their cover.

But when Jackson emerged from the kitchen a second time to find Stiles with yet another pretty girl practically sitting in his _lap,_ all thoughts of keeping their cover in tact flew out the window. Stiles barely got a startled greeting out before Jackson was hauling him off the couch, dragging him through the crowd and down an empty hallway mostly hidden from the rest of the party. He had Stiles up against the wall between one second and the next.

“Whoa, there!” Stiles said, hands in the air. “What’s up with the manhandling? And aren’t we supposed to be pretending we barely tolerate each other? Did I miss a memo?”

“Shut up,” Jackson grunted and buried his face in Stiles’ neck. He breathed in deep, searching past the scents of stale beer, sweat, and tacky perfume until he could get a lungful of the clean scent that was just Stiles.

“Oh, okay, we’re doing the sniffing thing now,” Stiles said amiably. He tilted his head to give Jackson better access, one of his raised hands falling to cup the back of Jackson’s neck and the other coming to rest on his lower back, wide and hot and familiar. “That’s cool, I like the sniffing. Is there any particular reason for the sniffing?”

Jackson let his growl out this time, burying it in the fabric of Stiles’ hoodie.

“They were all _over_ you,” he bit out.

Stiles snorted and his head fell back against the wall.

“Oh god, I know,” he whined. “Apparently, I’ve been overcompensating on the whole ‘don’t let Scott catch on that I’m in a secret relationship’ thing. I’ve been bitching about my lack of a love life too much lately, so Scott invited like twelve people for the specific purpose of setting them all up with me. I can’t get away from them!”

“Didn’t look like you were trying too hard,” Jackson said. He tried to keep from sounding too stung, but he was already plotting Scott’s slow and painful death in the back of his mind so it might’ve come out more bitter than he intended. It got Stiles to push him back a ways though, the better to squint at him critically.

“Dude, are you jealous?” he asked, sounding almost gleeful. “You’re totally jealous!”

“Of course I am!”

It burst out of him before he could think better of it. Stiles’ face fell; clearly he hadn’t expected Jackson to admit it out loud, or to actually be upset by it. But Jackson _was_ upset, more than he wanted to be or had any right to be.

“They were all over you,” he said again. “And you were smiling at them, and - and that one girl had her hand on your knee, and I don’t get to do that with you. I don’t get to cozy up to you at parties and make you laugh where everyone can see.”

“Jackson, sweetheart,” Stiles said, squeezing the back of his neck in that way that always made him go weak in the knees. “You _could_ do all that. I’d be more than happy to let you do that. You’re the one who wanted to keep things quiet with us.”

Jackson let himself slump against Stiles more fully, soaking up the line of heat against his front and the feeling of Stiles’ arm wrapping snugly around his waist.

“I know,” he murmured into Stiles’ shoulder. “I just—”

Stiles let him trail off. For a few minutes, they just stood there, leaned against the wall in the quiet bubble of the dark hallway with the music and chatter from the party flowing around them. Stiles’ heartbeat was steady and soothing against his chest, and the scent of him filled Jackson’s head with an overwhelming feeling of comfort and security. God, he never would’ve expected to feel that way about Stiles Stilinski, but here he was.

Eventually, Stiles made a questioning noise and tugged at Jackson’s collar.

“Is this my shirt?” he asked.

Jackson flushed. “Maybe,” he said. “What of it?”

“Nothing,” Stiles said with a shrug. “Just, I’m pretty sure you have plenty of your own plaid shirts and, as you are always reminding me, yours are much softer and higher quality than my cheap ones.”

“Yeah, well, mine don’t smell like you,” Jackson said with only a little bit of embarrassment. This was far from the first time he’d admitted that he liked being surrounded by Stiles’ scent, and he doubted it would be the last.

He could _feel_ Stiles’ smile pressed into his hair, feel the rumble of Stiles’ laugh through his own chest where theirs were pressed together.

“You weren’t worried about Scott smelling me on you?” Stiles asked.

Jackson rolled his eyes even though Stiles couldn’t see it from how closely they were twined around each other. “Please,” he snorted. “Everything in here smells overwhelmingly of sweat, beer, and hormones. Not even a true alpha could pick up your scent on me in here, not unless he was jamming his nose into my chest like a nosy asshat.”

Stiles laughed again, lower and softer than anything the flirty barnacles had managed to ring out of him earlier, and it sent a thrill of happiness through Jackson. He couldn’t resist the urge to press his lips to Stiles’ neck, but there was no reason for him to anyway. Hidden out of sight like this, he could kiss his boyfriend if he wanted. It made Stiles sigh, a content little noise that Jackson wanted to earn every hour of every day.

“Jackson,” he said. “Would it really be so bad?”

Jackson froze. “What do you mean?”

“Telling people,” Stiles said. “Would it really be so bad, if everyone knew about us? We could do this openly then. You could make me laugh as much as you wanted to, and sniff me to your heart’s content.”

Jackson gave a half-hearted huff of laughter, but that was all he could manage. When Stiles nudged at him again, he was more reluctant to let go of his tight hold, to let Stiles push him back enough to make eye contact.

“Really, though,” Stiles said. “Wouldn’t it be nice to be out in the open?”

Jackson swallowed hard, fists clenching in the hem of Stiles’ hoodie. “Yeah, it would be,” he said. “If we survived it.”

Stiles’ earnest expression collapsed into a frown.

“Survived it?” he asked. “You mean, our relationship? Why wouldn’t that survive it?”

Jackson glanced down the hallway, nerves driving him to check and make sure they were actually alone, that no one was leaning around the corner to listen in. It was irrational and paranoid, but anxiety pricked at him from every direction and he didn’t want to lose this, not for any reason. But Stiles was looking so confused and so concerned, and his scent was warm and spicy and bright, and Jackson wanted this always.

“It’s just—” He stopped, his throat tight. “They’ll think I’m not good enough for you.”

 _And they’ll be right,_ he didn’t say out loud, but it was a thought he couldn’t avoid. It was a thought that echoed in his head every night he didn’t spend with Stiles by his side, every time his heart skipped a beat as soon as Stiles came in sight, every time he was reminded of how much Stiles was loved by so many people who weren’t him—so many people who were _better_ than him.

Stiles just looked twice as confused though.

“Wha— Do you mean the pack? _Scott?_ ” he asked, jerking a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the party they’d abandoned. “Sweetheart, no! _No,_ that’s just—”

He swooped in to kiss Jackson, a hard press of lips that drew a noise from Jackson’s throat that might’ve been embarrassing with someone else. Stiles didn’t pull back, just rested his forehead against Jackson’s.

“God, you’re so ridiculous,” he breathed out. “You really think he wouldn’t _approve?_ Jackson, you’re pack! I know none of us got along in high school, but it’s been years and you’re an acknowledged, accepted member of Scott’s pack. And besides,” he added, “half the pack wasn’t even _here_ for the drama back then. None of them care _at all._ And even if Scott did have a problem with it, then that would be _his_ damn problem and not ours.”

“What, so you’re saying that Scott’s opinion of your significant others doesn’t matter to you?” Jackson asked.

“Not when he’s wrong,” Stiles said, so firmly there was no room for doubt in whether or not he meant it. “And he wouldn’t have a problem anyway, so it’s a moot point. Jackson, sweetheart, there is nothing and no one stopping us from being together.”

Stiles’ heartbeat, when Jackson reached for it, was slow and even. His scent was clear. The hands that came up to cup Jackson’s face were steady and warm against his skin. Jackson leaned into the touch, trying to make his own heart stop racing. He wanted this. Damn it, he _wanted_ this, and Stiles really thought they could have it and have it for real, where everyone could see.

Stiles believed they could survive it. Maybe it was time he started believing that too.

With one deep breath, Jackson reached up to take one of Stiles’ hands in his. Stiles let him tangle their fingers together, and he let Jackson pull him off the wall and down the hallway. When Jackson didn’t let go as they rounded the corner, he broke out into a smile that could stop a fucking hurricane in its tracks.

When Jackson slowed and faltered, he just squeezed Jackson’s hand tighter and led the way himself. And that was okay because Jackson was pretty sure he would follow Stiles anywhere. Even if that meant facing Scott’s hypothetical wrath.

Turned out there was no wrath, from Scott or anyone else. But there was a lot of spluttering surprise and comically dropped jaws, which made Stiles laugh that big, bright, open laugh of his that Jackson loved so much. So maybe it was worth it.


End file.
